The Psychiatrics of Fredward Benson
by Basco57
Summary: As far as he was concerned, he didn't require professional help. But the way he absently strangled the pillow on his lap as he fussed about that girl again told the doctor a different story...Right, and who doesn't enjoy listening to Freddie natter?
1. In Which Freddie Natters

**A/N)**** Hey, I'm back. How is everyone doing? Summer! Eh, eh? Good times, ay?**

**I have seen a few fics about some of the main characters of iCarly in therapy (cuz they are all nuts, so it makes sense), and I thought I'd have a crack at it.  
**

**Okay, so say Sam and Freddie _do_ get together. Yay, excitement, celebration, all that chizz, whatever, meh. Now, why in the hell would Freddie ever want to stay with Sam? And _how_ does he deal with that incessant tick bathing? This story is just to feed my desire to get inside of Freddie's head and work out how he ticks and all the stuff. In my opinion, Freddie has the most reason for therapy out of the iCarly crew. I'll make my reasons apparent throughout the next few chapters.  
**

**Oh, warning: I usually write in first person POV and in present tense. This is third person past tense, so bear with me, please. I'm experimenting. It's pathetically hard too. I rely way to much on my first person comfort zone to make it easy to get the characters emotions across. And I almost threw up me every time I typed 'said' instead of 'says'. Right, well, enjoy.**

**Disclaimer:**** It's Dan's, as far as I'm concerned.**

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As far as Fredward Benson was concerned, he did not have to to be here. As far as Fredward Benson was concerned, he did not have obsessive compulsive tendencies which required treatment. As far as Fredward Benson was concerned, he did not have issues that made professional help necessary. His mother would probably tell you a different story.

And so for, as far as Dr. Bond was concerned, his mother was right.

"So, let me get this straight. She calls you _Freddork_?" Dr. Bond inquired of the well-dressed teenage boy occupying her brown leather couch.

"Yeah," he scoffed, tugging at the loose fabric of a couch pillow. "And Fred-wad, and Fredly, and Freducation! And now sometimes I find myself signing my name as Fredison or Fredhead before I can even think about it! I introduced myself to this new kid at school as Fredifer the other day. Fredifer! Gah, she is so annoying!"

"Right…Freducation? Hmm. Creative." Dr. Bond scribbled something about _apparent issues with identity_ into the notebook on her lap. "Now who is it that's annoying?" the doctor asked, thoroughly confused. They were still in the first five minutes of their first ever session, and all Dr. Bond had said was 'Tell me about yourself, Fredward,' and the self-claimed _Freddie_ Benson went off on Dr. Bond, informing her that she sounds just like _her_. Now the doctor just needed to know who _her_ was.

"She's just this girl I know," Freddie said. "She's…she's…difficult."

"Right," Dr. Bond murmured, deciding that, by the way her patient is now wringing the fabric of the couch cushion for everything it was worth at the mention of this girl, this may be a subject she should press on. "And what is this girl's name?"

"Sam," the patient forced through clenched teeth, squeezing the pillow a bit tighter.

"And what is it about her that is causing you to, eh, massacre that pillow?" the doctor asked, readying her notebook.

"Oh," Freddie started, looking down at his tight grip. He fluffed the pillow once, then twice. After he was satisfied with the fluffiness factor, her rested the it on his lap, and began, "Well, she is, uh, aggravating."

"I'm gathering that, yes," the doctor nodded.

"And she's rude, and she thinks she can walk all over me."

"Right, right." Dr. Bond continued nodding him on as she jotted something down.

"Well," Freddie started thoughtfully. "Actually, she _does_ walk all over me, and I can't stop her."

"Sounds like that's something you need to work on with people," Dr. Bond pointed out, recalling Freddie denying at the beginning of their session that he needed the help of a shrink, and saying he was here only by force of his mother.

"Yeah, well, you've never met Sam. If I try to work on her not walking all over me, I may suffer from mental or physical trauma." He paused and allowed the doctor to chuckle. The patient's face fell. "I'm not joking."

"Right, well-," the doctor checked her watch, then confirmed this by habitually glancing at the clock, "-time is running short now, and after talking to your mom over the phone the other night, I would really like to touch on the subject of your relationship with your mother." _Maniac_ and _anxious to extremes_ were the notes Dr. Bond had taken about her Monday 4 o'clock patient's mother thus far. She felt that, as their next appointment wasn't scheduled for another week, she should press the delicate issues of possible urgency. If only she knew how urgent and delicate the issue of the aggravating nick-namer was for Freddie, whether he realized it at the time or not.

"Right, my mom," Freddie sighed. "Well, I suppose I could start with the syringes…"

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If Dr. Bond had come to learn anything about Fredward (Freddie) Benson in the month they had spent in sessions, it was that there were three girls his life revolved around. Each for their own reasons, and each bringing out different emotions in Dr. Bond's patient.

"So, tell me more about Carly. Besides the fact that you love her," the doctor added hastily. "I definitely got that already. Just tell me about her."

"Uh, well, let's see…" Freddie fluffed the couch pillow and rested it on his lap. "She's really nice, and sweet, and everything a guy could want. She's practically perfect in every way. Well, she's a bit neurotic at times."

"Neurotic? Right, and did you know that some young men tend to subconsciously base their choice in girls off their mothers?" Dr. Bond chided.

"Ah." Freddie, again, fluffed the pillow on his lap. "Yeah, that makes sense. Though I think Carly is kind of a less spastic version of my mom." Then he recalled a few instances where Carly was in fact very spastic. "I mean, she's gets a bit strung up when there are hobos in our hotel room, and she tends to use a spray bottle on us when we fight."

"A spray bottle?"

"Yeah," Freddie shrugged, feeling as though this should be natural procedure among all friends. "She'll freak out and spray us when we argue. Sometimes we only have to look at each other, and Carly has the bottle ready. But she's still not as bad as my mother," Freddie assured the doctor. "Carly's never tried to douse me in nonexistent cloud block."

"Mmhmm," the doctor hummed mechanically. She noted that Freddie began fidgeting nervously with the tassels on the couch pillow at the prospect of the conversation turning to Marissa Benson. Wanting to stay off the topic of the patient's mother, as literally every other session revolved around Freddie's nattering of the clinically anxious third of girls who run his life, Dr. Bond decided to press, "And who are you talking about when you say _we_," though she was pretty sure she already knew the answer. Freddie's third, and possibly most unsettling girl.

"Oh, I mean Sam," Freddie said, his hands automatically wringing the pillow on his lap. "I already told you, she's, you know, always trying to pick a fight with me."

"And you seem like a pretty level headed kid," the doctor started. "So I'm sure Carly doesn't have to bring out the spray bottle too often, because you won't let this Sam girl get the best of you and lure you into an argument." Okay, so maybe Dr. Bond was being a bit cocky, using her psychoanalyzes powers to tell this boy how these events of his life must go exactly.

"Well, not exactly," Freddie admitted. The doctor cocked her brow, sitting back in her chair, surprised, as her assumptions were rarely wrong. "I mean, with anyone else, yeah, that's true. I'm usually pretty good about not letting people get me riled up. But, Sam is a different story. It's just…I dunno, Sam! I don't know what it is about her that makes me act the way I do! She drives me CRAZY! AND YESTERDAY, SHE CUT OFF THE SLEEVES OF MY FAVORITE BLUE SHIRT AND THE LEGS OFF MY JEANS JUST 'CAUSE SHE FELT LIKE IT!" The doctor remained silent, allowing Freddie to recover from his banter. He took a few breaths, slowly unclenching his fists from around the pillow, and allowing the color to rush back into his white knuckles.

"So, what did you do about her…" Dr. Bond paused. "Cutting off the sleeves of your shirt?"

Through clenched teeth the patient breathed, "Yeah, that."

"Well?" Dr. Bond readied her pen, hoping after a few weeks of work with Fredward Benson, that he had a noteworthy way of dealing with the antics of the Sam girl.

"Nothing."

"What?"

"I did nothing!" Freddie blew out with frustration outwardly pointed toward the doctor, but five weeks into therapy with Fredward Benson, and Dr. Bond knew her 4 o'clock patient was just angry with himself.

"And why is that?" Dr. Bond allowed her pen to fall to her desk, it's clanking sound echoing her disappointment. "I thought I gave you a few methods to help you deal with that girl. You're never going to be able to keep your dignity if you keep letting her walk all over you."

"Yeah, yeah, I know!" Freddie began manically wringing the brown couch pillow. "I did that thing you told me, you know. I turned the situation so she had to deal with the consequences of her actions, and not me."

"How?" the doctor asked, picking up her pen again, a glimmer of hope as she pressed it to the notebook, waiting.

"Well, I made her come across the hall to and explain to my mother how my clothing ended up, uh, limbless-,"

"Good, Freddie! Exactly what you need to do," the doctor beamed, scribbling frenziedly in the notebook.

"But," Freddie started, intentionally ominous. "She just shoved me into my apartment and closed the door. And at that point, my mom had already seen me, and, well, there was no time to go back and get Sam then."

The doctor sighed as she set the pen down again, folding her hands over her notes. "Right. I'm sure you're mother left you no breathing room when she saw you like that."

"Yeah, imagine trying to fit an explanation in through her manic nattering!" Freddie pulls nervously at the edges of the pillow. "My mom-,"

"Please! Freddie, save it for next week's appointment. She's all you talked about last week, and we decided that _every other_ week is reserved for complaints of your mother, remember?" Dr. Bond rubbed her eyes, giving silent thanks to her lucky stars that she was not the family psychiatrist. "Tell me more about what happened with the issue at hand here."

"Well, I was planning to maybe confront Sam about it again later, but the next time I saw her, she was, uh, like, throwing up and stuff."

"Ah."

"And Sam has this _crazy_ idea that Carly's good friend, her name is Missy, has some sort of conspiracy against her or something."

"Mmhmm."

"And I didn't believe her when she told me," Freddie admitted. He pulled at the corners of the brown pillow as he mulled over this a bit. "I didn't believe her, and I turned her down when she came to me for help."

"Sounds like this is something you regret."

"No!" Freddie was quick to say. "Well…Yeah, no, I don't."

"So yes?"

"So no!"

The doctor pressed her fingertips together as she watched Freddie carefully. "I think my captive pillow would tell me a different story." Freddie immediately became aware of the absent pounding of his fists. He cleared his throat, fluffed the pillow a bit, and settled back into the couch with the pillow at his side, saying nothing. The doctor pressed on, "Do you really think she's making that up about Carly's pal?"

"Yes," the patient said quietly.

"Yes?"

"Okay, no!" Freddie habitually grabbed for the pillow. He pounded at it once before saying, "I mean, she came to me for help, and she _never_ comes to me for anything! Well, aside from food and money." The patient chuckled to himself, as if recalling an inside joke of some sort. "Anyway, there's gotta be something up."

"And you didn't think about that when she came to you?" Dr. Bond asked.

"Gah, no." Freddie allowed for his shoulders to slump a bit. "I mean, maybe I kind of believed her, but I was still a bit pissed off after she cut up those clothes, and I suffered a tick bath for it, you know?"

"Ah." The doctor waited for her patient to continue. The patient became fascinated with the floor. Dr. Bond sighed. "So, this is seemingly eating away at you."

"No."

The doctor only had to cock an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine. Yes! Yes, for reasons beyond me, it bugs me that she doesn't think she can count on me anymore," Freddie said reluctantly. Then the pillow suffered dearly for the patient's realization.

"Mmm…" Dr. Bond observed, filling the silence with her incessant pen clicking. She almost hated herself for the cliché, but, "And how does that make you feel?"

Freddie's jaw dropped a bit at that. "Whoa…That was weird."

The doctor chortled. "Yeah, I feel lame asking it." She sighed and picked up her pen once again. "Just answer the question," she said impatiently.

"Well," Freddie mulled. "Eh, bad?"

"Bad? Just bad? Do you have the mentality of a poptart?"

"Okay, really bad!" Freddie could see that the doctor still wasn't satisfied. "It makes me feel like I let her down, even though she's let _me_ down a zillion times over, and I shouldn't-," the pillow endures another blow, "-even care, because it's Sam-," mores suffering on the pillow's part, "-and she would never help me if I went to her-," the pillow is victimized yet again, "-but for some reason…for some reason…" His voice faltered.

The doctor sighed again at the patient's inconsistency. "For some reason you feel bad because you let her down, and you want to make it better because it's eating away at you, and it's all you can think about, and it's driving you crazy?"

"Yes." Freddie exhaled, relieved. The pillow was relieved too as Freddie was able to calm down now that he and the doctor were on the same page. "What'd'ya think I should do?"

"Hmm…" Dr. Bond glanced down at her notes, more out of habit than necessity. "Fix it, Freddie. Make it better. Help her out." Freddie sank back into the couch, obviously not too content with the doctor's solution. "It's your choice, but if this is really bothering you as much as it appears - and I think my pillow could vouch for me there - then you should do something about it."

"Yeah," Freddie sighed. "I guesso." He looked around the room for means of changing the subject. "Hey, Doc, guess what?"

"Mmm?"

"I won that six month cruise our school gave away! You remember me telling you about it?"

"Oh, yeah, Freddie. I remember," Dr. Bond said. "Well, congratulations are in order, I suppose. Good for you!"

"Thanks," Freddie said, grinning.

"Now what excites you more, the opportunities of learning and culture ahead, or possibly not getting a tick bath for six months?"

"Ha, ha. Funny," said Freddie humorlessly. The doctor just smiled. "I actually think the best part is that I won't have to come here and listen to you make fun of me for my mother's obsessive cleanliness. I get enough of that from Sam." He said this, but his manic fidgeting with the corners of the couch pillow told the doctor that excitement from the prospect of a break from his mother was definitely on his mind.

"Mmm, fair enough." Dr. Bond glanced up at the clock, then checked it with her watch, agitated slightly by the minute and a half difference. "Well, it's about time, Freddie."

Freddie sat the pillow aside, being sure to fluff it a few times. "Well, thanks, Dr. Bond. I'll see you next week."

Dr. Bond stood and walked her patient to the door, clicking her pen in harmony with her footsteps. "Yeah, see you then. We'll have to discuss your six month absence." She opened the door for him. "I suppose you can call me a few times a week while on board."

"Sure, sure."

"And I'll try to talk to your mother soon, because I know she's not going to like the idea of you leaving for six months."

Freddie took a step out the open door, saying, "Oh, yes, thank you. Please do."

The doctor chuckled, leaning against the doorframe, and watching her patient head for his mother in the waiting room, who was wearing a pair of plastic gloves as she turned the pages of a house keeping magazine they offered. "Freddie?"

"Yeah?" the patient asked, turning around.

"Be sure to make the most you possibly can out of this trip, okay?"

The patient cleared his throat. "Sure." Dr. Bond's four o'clock tried to act natural as he ambled over to his mother, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and weak on his knees. The patient refused to catch his mother's eye, and kicked at the ground once, wondering desperately why the blonde third of the girls in his life was heavy on his mind now.

* * *

**A/N)**** Alright. This is different from me, I think. Not as action-packed or humorous as my previous stuff, I s'pose. But it's mostly about Freddie's view of things, and good dialogue and stuff. And it's not in first person POV, which is weird for me. Sorry if it's not up to par. I'm a bit rusty at third person and past tense writing. **

**This will be about three, maybe four chapters. Hmm...No more than five. Review, please. Let me know if the dialogue is interesting enough to make up for the lack of action, because that worries me. I know this chapter was kind of boring, but I wanted to introduce Dr. B and Fred's relationship progression. Also, through the dialogue and thoughts of the doctor and patient in their sessions, this story will tell of the progression of Freddie and a few other characters' relationships as well. caughSamcaugh. Yeah, seddie. Meh. What else is new? Gah, I need to write a good Carly/Nevel to refresh myself one of these times. Oh, and out of habit for personifying inanimate objects, I think I should name the pillow. Mmm...Prolly not, but I do love that pillow. **

**I'll update soon. Thanks, cheerio. **


	2. In Which Progress Meets Reality

**A/N) Hey. Um, I just wanted to let you know that, if things go as planned, and basketball doesn't take over my life, I will be getting a few more shorter stories out there pretty soon. Prolly before I even finish this one. So, look out for those. **

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I wish.  
**

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The sweet sound of progress echoed in Dr. Bond's four o'clock patient's ramblings. Only three and a half months into treatment, and Fredward Benson had progressed enough to move back from a session per week to a session every other week. Dr. Bond was proud, not only of the productivity of her methods, but, on a personal level, of her four o'clock Monday patient.

Sure, there were times when the patient made the wrong move. There were times when he gave in to Carly when she brought out the sugar coated voice. There were times when the patient didn't stand his ground and state sensible reasons against mother-son synchronized swimming, pottery classes, wood crafting, canoeing, sexual education, scrap booking, etc. like Dr. Bond had encouraged him. There were times when the patient let the obsessive need for perfection in his schoolwork control his life. And, naturally, there were times when the patient let that Samantha Puckett girl get the best of him.

"No!" Freddie yelled from his place on the couch, raising his hands toward the doctor. "Don't write that down!"

Dr. Bond, with a smirk on her face, finished the fluid movement of her pen against the notebook with the emphasized dotting of an 'i'. She cleared her throat happily, picking up the notes in front of her, and read the previously written, " 'Appears to feel human emotions toward his camcorder.' " It took everything in Dr. Bond's power to stifle her snorts upon seeing her patient darken a few shades of red.

The patient, used to the doctor's playful teasing of his weird quirks by now, sighed and played absently with the tassels hanging off the corners of the brown couch pillow. "I was just trying to make my point when I said I loved my camera like a person," he said quietly, though by the end of this statement, he seemed to realize why his doctor may find that amusing. "Anyways, we were getting done with iCarly, and-,"

"Excuse me," the doctor asks, not quite recovered from her teasing spell and still smirking. "Done with what?"

"iCarly. You know, that webshow I told you I produce."

"Oh, right." Dr. Bond shrugged, clicking her pen twice. "I've never heard of it."

Freddie, thinking to himself that that was a definite first, said, "You aren't a very good psychiatrist, you know. Aren't you, like, supposed to be building me up and all that?" The patient sat back with a satisfied smirk as the doctor feigned annoyance.

Dr. Bond smiled icily. "Right, well, don't change the subject here. I'm supposed to be counseling _you_." She readied her pen. "Continue please. How did Sam get the best of you this time?"

The patient did not find his doctor's insightful prediction amusing. "Well, before you so rudely interrupted me-," Dr. Bond rolled her eyes, "-I was saying that I, uh, _really like my camera_." The doctor snorted. The patient ignored her, and went on, "And we just got done filming iCarly, and Sam was, well, being Sam."

"Naturally," the doctor said absently, waiting for Freddie to start subconsciously beating on the pillow.

"And she was bored and feeling feisty-,"

"Not a good combination for her," Dr. Bond said, gathering what she knew of Sam and the way Freddie's knuckles turned white when he spoke of her as he would usually be gripping something very tightly at that point, and drawing her conclusions of this girl she'd met only in theory.

"Right, not a good combo for Sam." Then, almost automatically, "Neither is Fat Cakes and energy drinks." The doctor chuckled, at what, her patient wasn't sure. "Anyway, she knew she hadn't pissed me off in awhile - which is about a day for her - so she decided to go for the camera." He paused, allowing for the dramatics to set in. Dr. Bond only used the time to stifle her laughs. Freddie, who was too busy being angry about this recollection to notice Dr. Bond's possibly unprofessional undertakings, violently gripped the tassels on the pillow before continuing, "I can't believe Sam sometimes! Seriously, she has no respect for me or my things!"

"And what exactly did she do to your camera? Break it?"

"No."

"Uh, smear peanut butter on it?" Dr. Bond asked, recalling a few times in the past Freddie had complained about Sam, who typically went hand in hand with the patient's avid explanations of his hate for all things sticky.

"No, not this time."

The doctor sighed, frustrated with her patient's habit of coming up short. "Right, Freddie, well?"

"She licked it."

"What?"

"The lens!"

"No, not _what_ did she licked," Dr. Bond explained with forced temperance. "I'm saying _what_ as a sort of interjection, like, to express my surprise that this girl could make you this angry just by licking your buttons."

"My lens."

"Right, your lens. By licking your lens." Dr. Bond allowed her patient to wring the pillow a bit as she jotted something down. Something about _possible obsessive compulsive behavioral issues when it comes to his tech equipment_. Then she thoughtfully chewed on the end of her pen for a moment. _And when it comes to all things sticky_, she adds. She smirked, not being able to help herself, "I think you have feelings for this girl."

Freddie scoffed. "Yeah, disgust. And loathing. And fear. And animosity."

"Okay," the doctor said, "well played. What were we talking about?"

"Her tongue. My lens."

"Right. Okay, Freddie, what did you do about it? Please tell me you didn't let it bother you, like we've been working on."

"Uh, sorry. I, er, kind of flipped," Freddie admitted quietly.

"Freddie! Come on," Dr. Bond said, but still offered a reassuring smile. The Sam girl most likely already gave him enough emotional trauma to deal with, and Dr. Bond didn't feel she needed to add to it. "I thought I explained to you last week that the only reason Sam does the things she does is because she lives on your reactions. Don't give her the reactions she so desperately desires, and you'll see that she'll lay off, because it won't be any fun anymore."

"Yeah, alright, thanks," Freddie said. "I'll work on that." He still sounded a bit skeptical. But at least the pillow wasn't being man-handled at the moment, and Dr. Bond took that as a job well done on her part.

So, naturally, there were times when the patient failed to execute the doctor's methods of levelheadedness and so on.

But, aside from refusing tick baths, it was apparent that Fredward Benson was making progress. Dr. Bond counted it as progression when her four o'clock patient proudly informed her that he had refused to get up and grab Carly a Peppy Cola out of the fridge yesterday. Dr. Bond counted it as progression when her four o'clock retold the tail of his trip to Hollywood, and how he made fake ID's to get into a the DingoChannel headquarters. Maybe this doesn't strike you as something that should make a psychiatrist proud of her patient, but in the case of it being healthy for the patient to do things his mother wouldn't validate, and Dr. Bond found that her patient's adventures with his friends that occasionally took a turn for illegal, but never seriously dangerous to anyone, were ultimately harmless. She saw it fit to be proud of him for breaking into Dingo. And, perhaps what most supported her notion that there was progress, was the fact that her patient was here in her office for this session.

Freward Benson did not attend the six month luxury cruise he had won a few weeks ago. Fredward Benson had learned a bit about the value of friendship, found where his loyalties lie, and discovered that he was very capable of selfless giving, even to those he claimed to hate. And to Dr. Bond, this was progression.

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It was four months of weekly visits later that Fredward Benson's progression met reality, and progression was violently massacred.

"Stop hitting your head against the wall for a moment, and explain this to me again!" Dr. Bond finally had to scream at her patient. For the last five minutes, the only things she had gotten out of him were a series of grunts and a few angry, 'damn me's and some 'Sam's. "Please, Freddie," the doctor tried, resting her hand on his shoulder. When he didn't tear away, she took this as a good sign, and pushed him down onto the couch. He immediately fell forward, and continued punishing himself with the beating of his head against the coffee table. "Please, Freddie, cut it out!" When the doctor was ignored, she sighed and grabbed the matted couch pillow from the where it was hidden because it looked a bit shabby do to, eh, use. "You seem angry. Here, strangle this."

Freddie took the pillow gratefully, immediately initiating his doctor's orders. Now, he thought, if only he could follow his doctor orders outside of the office, then he would've ignored Sam's jeering, and he wouldn't be in the mess he was in now.

After her patient had visibly settled down, Dr. Bond took a deep breath, sat at her desk, folded her hands, tried to assume calm. "Please," she started tiredly. "Try to tell me again what recent revelation you made that has caused you so much distress."

Freddie rubs the red spot on his forehead for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I…I found out that I have a lot of restraint, but not in a way that I'd want to find that out."

"You are horrible with specifics."

Freddie chose to ignore the doctor. This was hard enough for him to accept without having to explain it to her. "I…"

"You…"

Freddie sighed, finally choosing a path. "We were at Carly's, planning for the next webcast, right?"

"You tell me."

"Okay, well, there was an open slot for a bit, and Carly didn't have anything, so I was like, 'Hey, let's do tech time with Freddie!'. And Carly was like, 'Nyyeah', and Sam was like, 'You're missing your AV club meeting. Why don't you go play pat-a-cake with the other nerds?'" Freddie paused to let out an angry huff. The doctor tried not to look amused. "And I said, 'Sam, you're…'. Well, I don't remember what I said. I don't know. Something like, 'You're a brute, an antagonist, _clinically insane_.' You know, the usu."

"Naturally."

"And she was like, 'Fredhead, your mom is all about teaching you manners, so don't you know it's rude to be alive when nobody wants you?' Uh, or something like that," Freddie said. "And then I yelled at her, and she yelled at me, and soon we were getting in each others faces and all that." He inattentively pulled at the corners of the pillow, and said, "And Carly was trying to stop us, spray bottle and everything, but we were really getting into it." He paused. "Heh, we were both, like, soaked." Dr. Bond was surprised to see a smile takeover the features of her very distressed patient. But his joy was short lived as he continued, "And then Sam, well she, uh, tackled me," he said, sounding like the shock from the event hadn't worn off.

"Tackled you?"

"Tackled me! Laid out in mid air, and drilled me to the living room floor!"

Dr. Bond dug around for her pen. "I see."

"And we were wrestling for a minute." Freddie cringed. "And she was, er, whooping my ass," he spits out reluctantly. "Er, sorry, my rear."

"You're fine."

The patient sighed, seemingly frustrated with this part of his story. "And I realized something."

"…"

"I, uh, I realized that I wanted to, er, maybe k-kiss…her." After he forced it out, a grimace followed. "Gah, I don't know what's wrong with me!" He gripped the pillow, still making a disgusted face, and said, "I mean, I kissed her before, once, but that was nothing."

"Huh?"

"Long story," he explained dully. "But this…this was, like, I _wanted_ to kiss her. Not just to, you know, kiss somebody. But _her_ specifically!"

Dr. Bond sighed, the knowledge that she was going to have to start over with the progression of her Monday four o'clock weighing down on her mind. "Is that the realization that is causing you to bang your head against the hard surfaces of my office?"

Freddie said nothing. He just pouted a bit, feeling sorry for himself. He wasn't even up to beating the pillow at this point.

"Look, Freddie, it's not unusual for a boy your age to get these kind of feelings for the girls he hangs around," Dr. Bond tried. "I mean, more often than not you're spending time with this girl. So, the desire for physical intimacy was bound to happen eventually."

Freddie grimaced yet again. "You make it sound so weird."

"Be that as it may," the doctor started wearily, "I'm just trying to get you to stop being so narrow minded. Don't beat yourself up about this! You're a teenage boy. She's your best friend. It's natural."

Freddie sighed, not too convinced. "Well, it get's worse than the thought of kissing her exciting me," he told the doctor.

"And how is that?"

Freddie looked down at his feet. His face turned red, not so much embarrassment as frustration. "I…I…"

The doctor sighed. "You?"

"Gah, I like her!" The pillow was then hurled against the wall. The patient rose quickly from his seat. Manic pacing was initiated. "I like her. I _like_ her. I like _her_!"

"So…you like her?"

"Wipe that smirk off your face! This is not funny, this is serious!"

The doctor humored the patient, and started with more composure, "I don't see why this is so bad, Freddie."

"She's gonna kill me if she finds out," the patient mumbled to himself. "What am I going to do?" The doctor attempted to answer, but Freddie continued, "I should get away. Yeah, that's it, I'll move to Cuba, then I won't be tempted to, well." He bit down on his lip, still pacing. "And then Sam won't be able to come find me and murder me if she does find out."

Dr. Bond felt it a necessity to note, _paranoid_. Then she saw it fit to add, _in terms of Sam_. "Freddie," she said sternly. "Sit down. We can take care of this. You look like a maniac." Her eyes were wide with realization by the end of this attempted intervention. _Manic in terms of Sam, _she added to the yellow paper_. _

Dr. Bond watched the poor boy with empathy for a moment before scribbling, _note to self: move Fredward Benson back to weekly visits because of__..._She searched for the word...___regression due to realizations that were obvious to third party people. _  


Freddie didn't listen to the doctor. Or he just didn't hear her. At this point, most things around him were drown out by his agitated mumblings about the girl who, as of recent, was the only thing on his mind. He sighed, and stopped his pacing, felt the sting and hated the lump in his throat as things sunk in one more time. "I like her."

Then began the rhythmic beating of his head against a nearby wall.

* * *

**A/N) Poor kid. I figured that if Freddie ever comes to the realization that he likes Sam, the banging of his head on solid objects for extensive periods of time would ensue. I dunno. That's just me. **

**Please, let me know if you think I should continue this. I'm reading _Sybil _so it took everything out of me not to call the doctor Dr. Wilbur. What evs. Reveiw. I like the next chapter best so far. Thanks. I'll update soon. **


	3. In Which Freddie's Left Eye Twitches

**A/N) Yo, yo, yo! Biddy Biddy Basco Fiddy Seven in the hizzouse! (Credit for that strange greeting goes to Luna Moody).  
****Today, children, we are going to learn what happens when a boy named Freddie meets caffeine. Inspired by the cup of coffee in my hand. Ah, coffee…How would I ever stay awake in class without you? ****It is hot outside! Gah, I'm a born northerner, so this southern-ish heat is **_**killing **_**me. And guess what, my air conditioner broke! Brand new AC, broken. A man named Jeff is currently fixing it. Jeff scares me.  
****Chapter three. Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I disclaim this. **

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Dr. Bond rearranged the books on her oak shelf, again, as she waited for her Monday four o'clock to show up. It was uncharacteristic of him to be late, but the doctor chose not to worry. She needed to clear her mind and mentally prepare for this session. It was, after all, one of the sessions scheduled to be about Marissa Benson, and those could take a toll on the doctor.

Dr. Bond, her back to the door, jumped slightly when, "Hey, what up, Doc!" occurred.

She regained her poise and turned around. "Hello, Freddie. How are you?"

"Good. Great. Fab." He absently bounced on the balls of his feet. "Fab! I never say fab! But I guess I'm feeling a bit gay today." The doctor cocked her brow. "Like, happy kind of gay. The synonym. I'm happy. Happy gay," the patient assured.

"Right…" Dr. Bond sat down at her desk, and grabbed her notebook. "Freddie, I think I have to agree with your mother on this one. You really don't need caffeine."

Freddie, still standing, eyes wide, hands shaking, said, "Nah! I didn't have caffeine!" He paused. "Well, a bit. Okay, okay! But a pot of coffee isn't that much!"

The doctor clicked her pen wearily. "Oh, you know, it's just twelve cups."

"Exactly," Freddie beamed, jabbing a finger in Dr. Bond's direction with unnecessary aggression. She jumped a bit, again, then went right to scribbling in her notes with wide eyes. "Hey! This place is…_blah_…Let's go to Skybucks!"

"Freddie," Dr. Bond started sternly. "Please, take a seat. Dear God, we are not going to Skybucks." Freddie obliged, and plopped himself down over the length of the couch. He wiggled his feet hanging off the edge a bit, and hummed something. "Freddie?" she started cautiously. "How have you been this past - is your eye twitching?"

"No. Yes. I dunno. Maybe. You should know. You're the doctor. You have a better view of it than me."

"…Right," the doctor said, referring back to her notes again. "Uh, we're supposed to talk about your mother today."

"Right-o!" Freddie threw in there.

"Mmm." Dr. Bond clicked her pen a few times. "Freddie, what's wrong?"

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Now, now Janice," he warned, "Just because I'm happy, and you feed on your patients' despair…"

Dr. Bond clicked her pen a few more times. "Freddie, you know that isn't true." Frightened of the outcome, but determined all the same, the doctor pressed, "What's the matter with you?"

Freddie got a wild look in his eyes for a moment, his mind working quickly for something, anything. He blurted out, "What's the matter with YOU?" before he could contain himself. Then he offered her a smile and a mortified shoulder shrug, continuing, "Truth is, I haven't slept for days."

"Days?"

"DAYS!"

"Days…" the doctor repeated as she jotted the word down.

"I've had, you know, A LOT ON MY MIND!" He paused and gave the doctor an apologetic look for his random exclamatory means. "I mean, a lot on my mind," he corrected coolly.

"Right. School?"

"Nope."

"You're mom signed you up for baking classes again?"

"Nay. Guess again."

A bit frustrated that the patient was playing games with her, but well practiced in patience all the same, the doctor asked, "Did Spencer try to give you another sex talk?"

"No, no, no, no!" Freddie rolled his eyes. "I give you one little insight of my life and concerns for masculinity, and you have to hold it over my head any chance you get."

"I'm sorry," Dr. Bond laughed. "It's just that I'm concerned for you, growing up with Spencer for a male role model." She allowed herself a dark chuckle. "I'm still scarred from that time he picked you up from here. Sweet guy, he's just got the mentality of a six year old kid."

"A six year old kid who asked you out twice the first time you met," Freddie accommodated.

"Right."

"And for your information," Freddie spat. "My masculinity is fine, and I don't need Spencer to give me, er, talks, and that sort of thing."

"Right."

"I am right! Look at this!" He gestured frantically to a Band-Aid on his elbow. "That's masculine."

"Uh huh," the doctor mused, eyes wide with concern. She turned to her notes, and pressed the ball point pen to the yellow page_. Concurrent necessity to remind self of masculinity. _She chewed on the end of the pen, accidentally catching her patient's eye, and smiled innocently. She looked him over once, then hastily added, _fidgets with the tassels of the cushion; supportive evidence to go along with suspected obsessive compulsive disorder._ "Now please, continue. What on earth is wrong with you?"

"SHE'S WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME_, _okay?"

"Okay."

Freddie sighed, the glint that was a caffeine buzz suddenly absent from his eyes. "I know it sounds stupid, but I can't eat. I can't sleep!"

"I gathered that one, yes."

Freddie settled into the couch, and the massive bags under his eyes became apparent to Dr. Bond. And, now that he was finally sitting still, she could see that his eyes were bloodshot, and his hair matted, and he had that general air of fatigue about him. The patient noticed the doctor looking him over. With half raised hands he gestured to himself, left eye twitching, and said, "She did this to me," then slumped helplessly into the couch.

"Welcome to a caffiene crash, Freddie."

"Meh."

Dr. Bond was silent for a moment. She wanted to reach for the comfort of her pen and notebook, but instead, she strode across the room took a seat next to her patient. With the way he was acting, it was just natural for her to feel his forehead. "Freddie, you're burning up."

"I'm freezing," he told her.

"Freddie, what happened to you?"

The patient let out a pained sigh. "She happened to me. Again."

"It's going to be okay," the doctor said, soothing her patient with a hand on his forearm. "Just…" Oh how she longed for her pen and notebook. But she knew Freddie got nervous when he watched her writing things down. She sighed, staying on the couch with her patient, and finished, "Just tell me what happened-,"

The patient barely gave the doctor time to finish before, "I kissed her! I just walked right up to her, grabbed her, and kissed her!"

"Well, that's good, Freddie! Good for you."

"No, not good!" Freddie busted. The doctor remained silent, satisfied when she didn't have to goad Freddie on to get him to talk. "The three of us were in the studio, rehearsing." Freddie huffed, and ran a hand through his hair. "Carly went down stairs. Sam and I were alone," he said feebly. "And I…" The patient struggled with himself, clenching the pillow at his side in desperation. "I just couldn't take it anymore!"

"Take what?" Dr. Bond asked quietly.

"Seeing Sam there, and, uh, not…I dunno." He ground a fist into the cushion. "Not being on her," he finally got out.

"On her?"

"I meant with her! _With _her. Sorry, I'm really tired all of the sudden. And dizzy. And…I jist can't form…ugh, form my thoughts into, you know," he slurred. "Sentences."

Dr. Bond offered Freddie a smile as she rubbed his shoulder, her empathy for her patient real, and not just an act, which was admittedly, almost sadly, new to the doctor. "What did Sam do?" she asked quietly.

Freddie attempted to sit up, ultimately sinking lower into the leather. "She didn't really resist me," he began. "In fact…Well, it doesn't really matter. She eventually pushed me away, and left the room without a word. And she went home, which really worries me."

"And why is that?"

"Well, Sam never goes home!" Freddie informed the doctor. "And that was three days ago. And she hasn't been to Carly's since. Or to school." Freddie looked off thoughtfully. "But I s'pose that's not too strange for her. Anyway, I've tried to call her a million times, - so has Carly - but she won't answer our calls."

The doctor sighed. "Sounds like she is probably feeling the same way you are now."

"Right."

"And I'm sure she's confused, and mad at herself, not you," she assured Freddie.

The patient nodded feebly, allowing himself to shut his eyes.

"This is fixable, Freddie. It's not that bad. What teenage kid hasn't gone through this?"

"Mmm."

"You alright? You're pale as a sheet."

"M'fine," Freddie said, sitting up, and running his fingers through his hair. That's when Dr. Bond noticed it was drenched in sweat. The doctor rested her knuckles on the patient's forehead again.

"You need to go home, and sleep. Right now." Dr. Bond helped Freddie to his feet.

He ambled weakly to the door, stopping to look back at her with a weary smile. "Hey, at least now I can truthfully tell her that she makes me sick."

"Go home, Freddie. And lay off the coffee. Doctor's orders."

So, Dr. bond thought, the patient wasn't lying when he said that Sam was bad for his physical and mental health like he told her early on in the sessions. She saw the physical one very clearly today. Next week she would work on figuring out the mental part of things.

-------------------------------

Dr. Bond had done her homework in the week between sessions with her Monday four o'clock patient.. Thanks to the internet, and Freddie's tech skills, she was able to learn quite a bit about the girl who single handedly killed the doctor's progress with Fredward Benson.

"iCarly is a really good show," Dr. Bond told Freddie. "I'm impressed."

"Oh, you finally watched it, did you?" the patient asked smugly.

"Yeah, to, you know, study up."

"Study up?"

"Yup," the doctor said happily. She retrieved her pen and notes, then plopped down on the couch next to Freddie.

"You're not supposed to be peppy, Doc. We have to talk about my mom this week, remember?"

The doctor laughed dryly. "Let's see, Freddie. Um, you came to my office last week, tripping out of your mind on caffeine, and telling me that you kissed your acclaimed mortal enemy." The doctor recalled a few moments of the highlights of iCarly online where she had finally seen this Sam girl in the flesh. "And possibly the most dangerous and aggressive girl on the face of this planet-,"

"Glad you see it my way."

"-Then you practically passed out-,"

"Not quite."

"-And you realize that the coffee just took the place of what a drug might do for other kids, but not you, in this situation. You were using it for means of coping, because you couldn't sleep at night anyway, so you may as well be wide awake-,"

"Now you're just being cocky."

"-You practically left my office in pieces yesterday."

Freddie said wearily, "Well, I guess Sam is just tearing me apart. You're the doctor. What do we do about it?"

"You mean what do _you_ do about it. I get to sit back and laugh at you and your nattering." Dr. Bond clicked her pen twice, and smirked.

"Nahyeeah," Freddie said. Or something like that.

"Intelligent. Hey, listen, I want you to tell me about Sam. Well, not _about _her. I know that she's eccentric, and unpredictable, and she cherishes a blue remote more than most people," Dr. Bond said. "And, correct me if I' wrong, but Sam once almost killed a young girl on iCarly while she was in a mustache arguing with your other friend about squirrels."

"Yeah, that sounds about right. You did some studying."

"Sam has an impeccable southern accent." Dr. Bond smiled, and kicked her feet up on the coffee table.

Freddie clicked his tongue, following suit. "That she does."

"Alright, sorry for my rambling. I just find this girl fascinating! If you could convince her to come in one of these times, and I could just attempt an analysis-,"

"Doc? You're going all doctor mode on me."

"Right. Uh, I just want you to tell me what you like about her."

"I don't know, Bond. I kind of think you want to tell me what _you_ like about her some more."

"Answer the question, you dolt."

"I'm not a dolt."

"Answer the question."

Freddie exhaled. "Well, nothing."

"What?"

"That's the thing that makes this so damn confusing! I don't like anything about her," Freddie said. He grimaced, then continued, "I mean, she's _horrible_. And she's rude, and aggressive, and vile."

"I see." The doctor finished writing _vile. _"But, if there's nothing you like about her, then why do you _like_ her?"

"Isn't that what you're here to tell me."

"You wish."

"Why do I like her?" Freddie mulled over this for a moment. He clicked his tongue, subconsciously in harmony with his doctor clicking her pen. "Well, I s'pose it's because I like everything about her."

Dr. Bond clicked her pen down hard one last time, watching her patient with an incredulous expression. "Freddie, if you keep acting like a raging psychopath, you are going to owe me a new notebook. I'm running out of room in this one."

Freddie just rolled his eyes, and said, "Well, stop writing everything down."

The doctor smirked. "But then I wouldn't have the information I need to back up putting you on medication for OCD." Before Freddie could again deny being obsessive compulsive, as he did so obsessively, Dr. Bond continued, "So, you like everything about her?"

"Yeah."

"But, you just said-,"

"I mean, what's not to like? She's funny, I mean, just hilarious! She's feisty, and she has nice teeth."

"Ah. Nice teeth. She's a keeper."

"And she's cute. Really cute. She's got this really intense, but at the same time bored, way of glaring me down, which amuses me for some reason." He couldn't help but smile to himself. "And she's spontaneous. There is seriously never a dull moment with Sam around."

"Yeah, that's the impression I'm getting," Dr. Bond said, surfacing from her notes. "I thought she was, like, always angry with you or something."

"Oh, yeah," Freddie said. "Yeah, she's always mad at me about something. Well, maybe she's not so much mad at me as she just enjoys hurting me," Freddie shrugged.

"But, you still desire to be with her?" Dr. Bond asked, trying to fathom this strange longing.

"Well, yeah, I still like her." Dr. Bond noted it as progress that her patient could now admit this without the urge to harm himself. "I tried. Believe me, I tried to stop. To not think about her anymore. To go to sleep one of these nights. To stop being late to History just so I can nonchalantly walk Sam to Mrs. Briggs'." Freddie sighed. "I just can't help myself," he admitted in a defeated tone.

"Have you talked to her since you kissed her last week?"

Freddie sighed. "Yeah, she went to school once. And we were in the hallway, and we were just talking, and laughing, and hanging out like we do in the hallway. I was seriously just about to bring up the kiss, and at least apologize or something, but then Wendy came up and was all like, 'Hey, Freddie! Hi, Sam! You aren't fighting! How sweet!' or something like that."

"Hmm." The doctor clicked her pen again, smiling. "You have an impressive girl voice."

Freddie huffed, "Right, well, time's up, Doc. I'm out of here." He stood, nodding.

The doctor walked her patient to the door. "Freddie?"

"Eh?"

"You said you were about to maybe apologize or something to her?"

Freddie glanced over his shoulder to his mother beckoning him from the waiting room. "Um, yeah. I suppose. It's what you'd want me to do, right? Face up to it all head on and everything?"

"Mmm, not exactly." Freddie rolled his eyes and shifted his weight impatiently. Dr. Bond continued, "Look, I know I'm not supposed to get, uh, real personally involved with your decisions - well, I mean, to an extent I do. I am your shrink, after all."

"Just spit it out there, Bond."

Dr. Bond smiled at her patient. "Go get her Freddie. Tell her everything you told me today. Don't apologize for kissing her. Show some dignity. I wouldn't be too surprised if things work out."

Freddie, less hurried to meet his mother now, asked, "Really?"

"Really."

Freddie mulled over this for a moment. "Hmm…" There was a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Confess everything to her?"

"Right."

Dr. Bond could practically feel her patient's mind turning as the moment droaned on. She was clicking her pen again when Freddie finally sighed, giving in. "If she demoralizes me in any way, shape, or form, I'm blaming you."

The doctor smiled. "See you next week, Freddie."

"And you're paying the hospital bill when she breaks my arm."

"Good _bye_, Freddie!"

* * *

**A/N) Alright, thanks for the reviews guys…Keep em up? One or two more chapters. Then I get to do my NEXT story, which I'm pumped about. If only I knew how to begin it…Okay, y'all come back now, ya hear? **

**Happy Birthday to whomever it may concern. **

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	4. In Which His Right Eye Follows Suit

**A/N) Hmm…This one is a bit of an emotional roller coaster. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Well, 'cept Bond. She's mine, I suppose. **

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Dr. Bond was nervous for her patient as he began his manic pacing the moment the session started. He was exceptionally jumpy today, and his hands were shaking, and the twitch was back, only it was his right eye this time. The doctor cleared her throat, figuring that today would be bountiful in terms of the notebook.

"Freddie, I told you two weeks ago, no more coffee." She was disgruntled when the patient seemed to not have heard her. "Not only will it stunt your growth, but it seems to have extreme side effects on you."

"I didn't drink any coffee," Freddie said. He didn't use random exclamation to state this, which lead the doctor to believe he was being truthful. "But I _did _do what you told me to do last week."

"You stated factual reasons to your mother as to why she should not be able to hold your hand in public places?"

"No…" Freddie droned wryly. "No, I talked to Sam about _you know what_."

"And?"

"And I'm still alive."

"_And_?"

Freddie smiled triumphantly. "And I'm taking her to the Groovy Smoothie after this appointment."

"That does seem to be your usual hang out, yes."

Freddie's eye twitched. "No. It's, like, a date this time. So we can talk, and drink smoothies, and be alone. You know, date-ish type stuff."

The doctor leaned back in her chair, her smile as triumphant as her patient's. "Looks like we did it."

"Yeah, we as in _me_."

"Fair enough. So…is that why your eye is twitching? Anticipation?"

"My eye is twitching?" _Twitch_.

"Mmm…" The doctor picked up her pen. _The patient appears to be oblivious to all else when he's got something on his mind. _She clicked her pen, smiling at Freddie. _Sam in particular. _

"What'cha writing?"

"The Monday four o'clock is clinically insane, and needs a straight jacket." Freddie rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, Freddie, the men in the white coats will make you feel special."

"You aggravate me."

"Speaking of people who aggravate you, what are you planning to talk about with Sam tonight?" Dr. Bond asked.

Freddie bounced a bit on the leather couch, his knees bobbing up and down. "I dunno, nothing. Everything. It _is _Sam, so probably MMA, or something. Like how dorky I am."

"You are that, yes."

"How did _you_ manage to get a career helping people?"

_Takes most things too seriously_, the doctor noted silently. "Well, we haven't talked about your mother's antics in awhile."

"True," Freddie chided.

"Are you up to that?"

Freddie looked around, playing with the tassels of the pillow, sighing for no apparent reason. "No, I just kind of want to talk about Sam some more."

Dr. Bond chuckled, "Heh, okay, Freddie. What else about Sam do you want to press on?"

Freddie's big grin as he began pondering excitedly what exactly it was about Sam that he wanted to press on left the doctor with a smile as well. Freddie bounced a bit more, bobbing his head for some reason. "I don't know. I am just so relieved that I finally get to talk to her about everything tonight."

"Mmm," Dr. Bond hummed.

"I've got it," Freddie said. "Why do you think she always tortures me? I mean, she apparently-," the big grin on his face grew, "-likes me. Right?"

"Right." The doctor chuckled when the patient exhaled, and began bouncing again. The doctor liked to see her patient like this. She continued, "I mean, she probably tortures you because she likes you. And she agreed to go out with you tonight. That's some solid proof right there."

"Yeah?" Freddie asked, bright-eyed and fidgeting happily with the pillow.

This pleased the doctor. "Sure, Freddie! And she is always poking fun at you on the web casts, and it scared her enough to hide away for a week when you kissed her. She was obviously afraid, because she may have came to the same realization you did then too." Dr. Bond smiled, patting Freddie on the shoulder. "I'm sure she was hitting her head against the wall as well."

Freddie laughed, tapping happily on his knees. "I can't wait until tonight," he said, barely able to contain his joy. "I'm going to buy her a smoothie, but not by force!"

The doctor wasn't sure, but the way he said it made her think this was something pivotal in the two's relationship. "Here," she said, grabbing the candy bowl off her coffee table which the patient usually ignored. The doctor figured this characteristic was inherited from his mother's health extremities exercised on him. "Take a piece of chocolate. Celebrate!"

Freddie hesitantly took a piece. Then two, then three, then four…

"Freddie?"

"Sorry, sorry," he said, and he bounced again. "Sam is wearing off on me." Then five…

"It's fine, Freddie. I'm glad to see you happy. So do you-,"

She was cut off by the loud buzz from Freddie's pocket. "Oh, sorry." He pulled out his phone to turn it off, but his eyes grew wide when he read the screen. "She's calling. She's calling! This is not a drill, SHE'S CALLING!"

"You had a drill?"

"Can I answer it in here?"

"Go ahead."

Freddie, wanting the doctor to share in his excitement, asked, "You want me to put it on speaker?"

"Uh, if that's what you feel like you need to do…"

Freddie nodded hastily, beaming. He clicked a button, silencing the buzz, and said coolly in a voice lower than his own, "Fred here. What up?"

"Fred-wad?" the voice on the other line asked. "Please, don't try to sound cool. It offsets the balance of nature."

Dr. Bond stifled a laugh, and Freddie continued smiling, determined not to let Sam get the best of him today. But she could have the best of him at the Groovy Smoothie, as far as he was concerned. "Hey, sorry, uh, hey. Um…Hey, Sam."

"Yeah, you said that."

"Right."

"…"

"So, what's up?"

There was a pause on the other end. "Fredward?"

"Yeah?"

"Now why won't you allow _me _to call you Fredward?" the doctor asked.

"Shh-sh-shush!" The patient covered the phone, eyeing the doctor, who mouthed 'Sorry', then leaned back, clicking her pen.

"Well, Fredster, uh, it's about tonight."

"Yeah, tonight." Freddie grinned, bobbing a bit. "You excited?" Then he realized his slip up. He started hastily, "I mean, not that I'm excited. Because I'm not. It's just-,"

"Freddie!" Sam cut him off, a hint of urgency in her voice. "I…uh, I-I can't go."

The patient's face fell. The doctor quit clicking her pen. The pillow cringed as it would soon be receiving a beating.

When Freddie said nothing, the voice went on, "Yeah, uh, I'm sick. Uh, I've got-," Sam let out a weak cough, then whispered hastily, "What've I got?"

"Denial," a voice Dr. Bond faintly recognized chided from the background.

"Carls!" Sam's voice warned quietly.

"Fine. Mad cow disease." This time, Dr. Bond recognized the voice of the more sane host from her patient's webshow. Well...not more sane, actually. Dr. Bond feared she has hit the jackpot with this group of friends.

"Mad cow disease," Sam told Freddie with certainty. "_Mad cow disease_?" she whisper-yelled at the other person. "Anyways, Freddo, sorry. I can't-," cough, "-come."

Dr. Bond risked a glance at her patient, who she found was in an unreadable state of shock, gripping the pillow. The only movement he made was the continual twitching of his right eye, which existed due to anticipation a moment ago. Now, God only knew what was going through the poor boy's mind to cause this spasm. Well, Dr. Bond was sure she wasn't God, but, _patient seems to develop __involuntary and sustained muscle contractions when his life is somehow affected by Sam. _

"Freddie?"

"Yeah," Freddie said weakly. He cleared his throat. "I'm here."

"Okay, well, sorry-,"

"You're gonna have to face the facts sometime, Sam!" the background voice whispered hastily. "You can't keep doing this to poor Freddie."

Dr. Bond caught her patient's eye, and held it there, hoping her gaze would offer support. "It's okay, Sam," Freddie said weakly. His voice faltered on 'Sam'.

"You said yourself that this wasn't that big of a deal," Sam said, sounding more like this reassurance was for herself than for the boy on the other end of the line. The end that Dr. Bond knew she was going to have to deal with in a moment.

"Yeah," Freddie said faintly. "Bye, Sam." Before she could answer, Freddie hung up, looking everywhere but at the doctor.

"Freddie," Dr. Bond started cautiously. "You told her it wasn't that important when you asked her out?"

"Well," the patient began, automatically taking the defensive. His voice went up an octave as he said, "How else was I supposed to get her to come?" He wrung the pillow violently, his eye still twitching.

"Freddie, listen, I know you're upset-,"

"M'not upset!" Freddie hastened. "She's not upset, then I'm not upset," he finished, grinding his fist into the pillow with finality. He looked pointedly to the clock on the wall. "Well, time's up. See you next week." And with that, he got up, and strode angrily from the room. Dr. Bond went back to her desk, grabbing her pen. She pressed it to the paper, then pulled it back, repeating this a few times before she finally paused, clicking indecisively. Finally, _note to self: don't become emotionally involved. _

--------------------------------------------

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Freddie, slow down!"

"And then I tried calling her eight more times after I left here last week, and she still wouldn't answer, and I was getting really angry, because I _knew_ she liked me, she was just to proud to admit it-,"

"Freddie," Dr. Bond pleaded. "Sit down. Stop pacing."

"So, that night, I couldn't take it anymore! I just had this sick feeling in my gut, and I hated Sam, but at the same time, I just wanted to see her, because when I'm not seeing her, that's time wasted." His eyes darted from the doctor to the clock, and back. "Can we cut the appointment short today?" He didn't leave Dr. Bond time to answer, and began his manic pacing again. "Anyway, that night I knew it was either go set things straight, or…I dunno, sit in my room in total despair and let my eye twitch some more."

The doctor gave up, surrendering to her notes. "Mmhmmm," she hummed, adding a few notes to the page dedicated to eye spasms.

"And I got up out of bed, oh, and it was past midnight, mind you." Freddie beamed at the doctor, knowing she would be proud of him for breaking his mother's rules. "I knew Sam was across the hall at Carly's, and I just couldn't help it, and I walked over there like a zombie or something." He animated a walking zombie. The doctor clicked her pen wearily. "And I barged in there, eh, quietly, and went up to the studio where Sam falls asleep on the bean bag almost every night." He stopped pacing for a moment, and looked back at Dr. Bond expectantly.

"I see," the doctor nodded.

"And I woke her up, and before she could say anything I just started spilling it all out," Freddie said, rocking on his heels, and using vigorous hand motions. "Everything I told you that one time, and more, and how it was killing me that she was avoiding me, and how even though she is everything that's bad for me, I still can't stay away. And how if she wasn't there to make life painful, I just didn't know what to do with myself-,"

"I'm getting the gist of it, yes."

Freddie grinned. "Right, and," he paced a bit more, "she was really tired. Kind of delirious, which helped."

"Naturally," the doctor chided. "So, did you guys talk?"

Freddie's grin spread. "Uh," he itched the back of his head, "Yeah, kind of…sort of." He bounced on the balls of his feet, still smiling. "There was some talking."

Dr. Bond, who in the week between this and their previous session had been convincing herself not to get emotionally involved in the patient's activities, found herself with a grin as big as the patient's. "Well, congratulations, kid."

Freddie nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, thanks, Doc. Now can I go?"

"No. Sit down."

The patient reluctantly took a seat on the very edge of the brown leather couch.

"Are you emotionally ready for a relationship with this girl?" the doctor felt she had to ask.

"Um…Yeah?" He drummed his fingers anxiously on the coffee table. "Maybe no. I mean, a little of Sam goes a long ways."

Dr. Bond nodded. "And it sounds like sometimes you've had too much."

"But too much is never enough!" Freddie exploded, throwing his arms up in the air.

"Right…" The doctor scribbled in her notes about the previous anxious finger drumming.

Freddie bobbed his knees, his eyes darting to the clock, then to the door. He finally heaved a heavy sigh, snapping his fingers absently.

"Freddie?"

The patient grabbed the pillow, fluffed it, and continued fidgeting.

"Freddie," Dr. Bond said more sternly, grabbing the pillow from him.

He snatched it back quickly, giving the doctor a reproachful look, and re-fluffed the pillow, setting it on his lap. Dr. Bond went to her notes. _Pounds on the pillow when angry. Fluffs the pillow when happy. Plays with the tassels when amused. Pulls at the corners when anxious. Ultimately, obsessive compulsive in terms of the pillow_. The doctor reads over this once, making a few connections. _Possible reasoning for obsessive behavior, aside from inheriting it from his mother; Sam._ "Freddie, would you pay attention?"

The patient nodded distractedly, still watching the door, pulling at the corners of the pillow, and clicking his tongue. "Remember when I told you time away from Sam is time wasted?"

Dr. Bond sighed. "Go home, Freddie." He grinned, and popped up immediately. He fluffed the pillow once, saluted to the doctor, then was out the door in a whip. The doctor called after him, "Oh, and I'm going to diagnose you with OCD! Just thought you should know!"

"No, you're not!" she heard from the hall.

Dr. Bond rolled her eyes, smiling, and assured herself that it was impossible to not be emotionally involved in the case of Fredward Benson.

* * *

**A/N) Okay. Thanks for the reviews, guys. Really. Thank you. Uh, fifth and last chapter will hopefully be up within the next day. Oh, and I figured I should give Freddie some sort of diagnosis, and OCD just seemed to fit. Sorry for errors. Thanks. Bye. **

**Oh, and for a story that I may be doing in the near/not so near future; what are some good usernames for Gibby and for Carly? Suggestions please, if you've got em. **


	5. In Which Too Much Is Never Enough

**A/N) Okay, so this one is almost two months after the last session, just to let you know. They've been dating for about two months. Uh, last one. Enjoy.  
**

**Disclaimer: It's Nickelodeon's, which is way cooler than Disney! *Gives self high five. Others in room stare. Mumbles about their deaths with maniac glint in eye* Well, except Walt. He was cool. In fact, I would venture to say he was the man. But after his reign, the song 'All Downhill From Here' by New Found Glory comes to mind. **

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As far as Dr. Bond was concerned, she shouldn't be surprised. As far as Dr. Bond was concerned, the recent regression of Fredward Benson was not a shocker. Not after the occurrence of recent events. Recent events which may have looked like progress from the outside, but, as far as Dr. Bond was concerned, progress was a distant spec on the horizon.

Trouble was, the patient's mother was convinced that the doctor was filling her son with horrible thoughts of anarchy and rebellion (Dr. Bond suspected that Freddie had slept with socks on, or been caught eating trans fat), and she was ready to pull Freddie out of therapy with the doctor. Though he wouldn't be her trouble two weeks from now, when their last session two sessions were scheduled, Dr. Bond still felt like she had to work fast. For progression's sake.

"Freddie, you're supposed to be happy. You've wanted this for a long time."

The patient sighed, flicking absently at the pillow. "Yeah, I know. But I think I bit off more than I can chew."

"You're the one who said too much was never enough."

"You're the one who told me that you didn't think I was ready for this!"

"And you're the one who had to be stupid, and dive into it head first!" Freddie didn't say anything. He only huffed, and crossed his arms, looking at the floor. Dr. Bond sighed. "Look, Freddie, I'm sorry. I know we're both just a little stressed out because we've got a lot of ground to cover in very little time."

Freddie grunted.

"Okay, Freddie, where were we?" She glanced down at her notes. "Ah, right. So, did you really think things would change after you started dating?"

"Well," Freddie sighed. "Yes and no. I mean, it _is_ Sam, after all, so no." He pulled at the corners of the pillow, and looked around the room. "Uh, I guess I just hoped things would change, you know?"

"What didn't change?"

Freddie let out a dark chuckle. "Well, let's see…She still pranks me. She still teases me relentlessly. She still forces me to do things I don't want to do."

The doctor cocked her brow, quick to ready her pen.

"No," Freddie started hastily. "No, uh, like, stuff like make her food, or pay for everything we do, and for her lunch, and clothes, and school fines, and-,"

"Oh, okay. Got it."

"And she _still_ steals money from me!"

"Ah."

"And she eats everything in my cupboards, the whole time complaining with her mouth full about how disgusting my mother's organic preferences are."

"Alright," Dr. Bond said. "Tell me how you feel about that."

"Well, I feel bad!"

"Freddie."

"Okay, okay. Uh…I feel, like, trapped. Like there's no way out, and that sort of thing. Like I'm just going to be tormented the rest of my life."

Dr. Bond smiled. "So, you see Sam in the rest of your life?"

Freddie pondered this for a moment. "Well, I wouldn't know what to do with myself without her. I mean, she's just always been there, you know? That's why I feel so trapped."

The doctor clicked her pen in indecision. "Mmm…" She swiveled in her wheely chair for a moment, and finally said, "Though I do enjoy listening to you ramble on about this girl, I think it might be in your best interest to break up with you if she makes you feel trapped, as you say."

Freddie suddenly became fascinated with the rug on the ground. "I've tried to get myself to do it, really. I just _can't_," he finally admitted, defeated.

"Do you ever stand up to her?"

"Well, yeah! I mean, that's all we do. I correct her behavior, tell her she's rude or disrespectful, and she starts jeering me, and teasing me mercilessly, and then I yell at her, then she yells at me, then we make out, then yell some more, and it starts all over."

Dr. Bond smirked. "Mmm, sounds like a vicious cycle."

"It really is, yes."

Dr. Bond clicked her pen, still swiveling, not wanting to say it, but, "Maybe, since you aren't going to be able to come to me a after next week anyway, you should switch over to Dr. Halbery across the hall. He specializes in couple counseling."

Freddie laughed. "Thanks, but Sam would never go for that. It would kill her. She'd probably die of embarrassment. It would be good for me, I guess, but I don't want to do that to her."

"Ah." She pressed her pen to the paper. _Selfless_. _Altruistic._ _Subconsciously puts those he cares about before himself. _But the doctor couldn't count this as progression. He had been like this with Sam since the doctor had first met him. The six month cruise came to mind now.

"Are you writing about how crazy I am, or how obsessive compulsive I am, or how I need to be in a white padded room?" the patient asked smugly.

"Something like that," the doctor replied.

Freddie furrowed his brow for moment, then exhaled coolly. "I really want to be mad at you right now, and I have no idea why."

Dr. Bond smiled, saying, "Oh, you're just feeling overwhelmed by Sam, and though you seemingly take it out on her with your vicious cycle and all, you still have some anger left over." She clicked her pen as her patient tugged on the tassels of the mangy pillow. "And you know our time is running short, so you're a bit frustrated, and you are going to miss me, you just don't realize it, and more than that, you don't know how to express it." She smirked, twisting in her seat, sticking her pen in her mouth.

Freddie sighed, a reluctant smile taking over his features. "You think _way_ too much of yourself."

Her smirk only grew. "And you're terrified because you won't have me to refer back to when you're mom is crazy, or Spencer fails to be you're male role model because he is acting like a six year old, or when Sam finally cracks and starts beating you regularly."

"You are a very unpleasant person."

"My pillow would tell me the same about you."

Freddie smiled, not angry, just amused, and still a bit puzzled about certain things. "You know, I figured after Sam and I, you know, got together and everything, I'd be able to get my life back on track, you know?"

"Elaborate."

"Like, I thought I'd be able to eat again without having that feeling in my gut. And I thought I'd be able to sleep at night."

"Ah, I see," the doctor said, taking in the bags under the patient's eyes which she was sure were permanent by now.

"And, well, I thought that I'd stop thinking about her all the time, you know. I mean, I have her now. I should be able to get her out of my system, off my mind. I should be able to concentrate on school, on the web show-,"

"Speaking of which," Dr. Bond started. "I was watching the other night, and I think you're subconsciously putting the camera at Sam more often than not. Half of the show we couldn't even see Carly."

"Right, thanks. I'll work on that." He drummed his fingers on the pillow, trying to gather his thoughts. "Anyways, if anything, it's worse now that we're dating."

"What's worse?"

"The whole not being able to sleep, eat, and concentrate thing," Freddie admitted. "And the eye twitch isn't completely absent."

"We could call it the Sam Spasm."

"Amusing," Freddie said humorlessly. "What do you think I should do?"

"Hmm…" The doctor clicked her pen, looked over her notes, stuck a piece of chocolate in her mouth. "The best I've got for now is learn to cope," Dr. Bond told him, wishing she could have more time with this particular patient.

"But that-,"

"If Sam means this much to you, it won't be too hard."

Freddie sighed. "Alright, alright. So, why do you think I can't get my head around her, even though I don't have to worry about letting her know everything, you know?"

"Well, like you've told me before, too much of Sam is never enough for you," the doctor said. "It'll probably be quite awhile, if ever, when you finally get this girl off your mind." Dr. Bond took to her notes, _patient shows reasons, aside from obsessive compulsive behavior and possible anxiety disorder, for needing to continue therapy. _

"You're right, too much of Sam is never enough. That must be why I'm always coming back for more abuse," he said, looking rather enlightened.

The doctor laughed. "Good, Freddie, good. I also think it's because you're just too hard headed and stubborn to let Sam get the best of you, though I have a feeling that she usually succeeds anyway."

Before the patient could counter, there was a shrill knock on the door. "Fredward!" a voice, as shrill as the knock, called.

"Meh," Freddie answered.

The doctor checked her watch, then the clock. "Oh, we're ten minutes over, aren't we?" She cleared her throat, then answered the door for the patient's mother. "Hello, Marissa. How are you?"

Mrs. Benson glanced around the room, looking distasteful when she spotted the sugary candy bowl. "I'm fine, doctor. And yourself?"

"Can't complain." Dr. Bond clicked her pen, glancing back at the reluctant looking patient. "I feel like Freddie and I were making some ground here today, and I don't have another patient until seven o'clock, so I was wondering if-,"

"Fredward, we need to get going. We've got grocery shopping to do, and I want to pick out some knew drapes for your bedroom, and we've got to restock the first aid kit." She beckoned for her son, turning apologetically to the doctor. "I'm sorry, Dr. Bond, what was that?"

Dr. Bond shook her head. "Nothing." After a few clicks of her pen, something occurred to her. She walked past Freddie back to her desk, picking up the busting notebook labeled _Monday four o'clock_. "Here," she said, handing her precious notes over to the patient's mother. "If you could read these, and get back to me next week, that would be great."

"Right," Mrs. Benson said, patting the purple notebook with care. "Will do. Say goodbye, Freddie. Next week is your last appointment with Dr. Bond." Freddie just nodded, a grimace on his face, which he knew his doctor would understand.

Dr. Bond smiled, waiting until Mrs. Benson had turned toward the hall before she whispered to her patient, "Good luck drape shopping. I'm sure it will be a painful affair."

"Yeah," Freddie sighed. "Bye, Doc. See you next week."

"Right. Next week," the doctor agreed, closing the door, and hoping desperately that her handwriting was legible to other people.

-----------------------------------

As far as Dr. Bond was concerned, this was her last Monday four o'clock session with Fredward Benson. Sure, they had had a good run in the six months the psychiatry took place, but she didn't think the patient was ready to be released. And worse than that, she didn't think she was ready to release him. Though she had just placed an order for a dosage of Prozac and Anafranil, so at least she had that to give him. But, she still felt her work wasn't finished, and she wasn't looking forward to their last appointment, even though he informed her he was bringing a surprise.

Their last appointment rolled around faster than the doctor would've like. And so it was that the alleged surprise loomed blonde and feisty.

Dr. Bond sat behind her desk, clicking her pen, accepting the purple notebook gratefully. "My mom told me to give you this back."

"Right, and what did she say when-,"

"Frederly! I don't smell cheeseburger!" boomed from the hall before the doctor could finish her thought.

Freddie smiled guiltily at the doctor before striding back to the door. "I told her that I was taking her out to a new fast food joint in town," he admitted before the went out to the hall, returning with a short blonde, tugging at the blindfold around her eyes. Freddie gulped before he untied it, then stood back, cowering, while he let the girl take in her surroundings.

"There's no deep fat fryers," she pointed out.

"No, Sam, um…This is actually my therapist's office. She wanted to meet you."

Sam looked around the room a bit more, her expression blank. "There's a couch, but no TV."

"Yeah, Sam, uh-,"

"Who's the lady?" Sam asked, throwing her chin in Dr. Bond's direction.

Dr. Bond, who was overjoyed as she had been dying to get her hands on this one for months, rose from her chair, extending a hand toward the girl. "Name's Bond. Janice Bond."

Sam looked at the doctor, then her outstretched greeting hand, then back at the doctor. Freddie rocked back and forth nervously. Sam glanced at him, then back to the doctor, who still had her hand out, which was wavering slightly. "Yeah, and I'm the Easter Bunny."

"No, Sam," Freddie started hastily. "That's rude. Her name is really Bond." He turned to the doctor with a contrite look, offering, "Sorry, you're going to have to excuse her."

Dr. Bond held up a hand to silence her patient. "No, it's quite alright," she said as they watched Sam discover the candy bowl. "She's even better in person."

They both watched silently as the guest consumed the bowl's contents, the patient in embarrassment, the doctor in awe and intrigue. "Well," Freddie started. "You're the one who said you wanted to meet her in the flesh."

"Thank you, Freddie. This is good. This is great." Dr. Bond rummaged around her desk for her pen, and readied her notes. She seated herself in her wheely chair, motioning for Freddie to take a seat on the couch. Freddie did so, grabbing the back of Sam's shirt and pulling her down too with an angry huff on her part. "So," the doctor began, bright eyed with anticipation. "Tell me about yourself, Sam."

Sam cocked her brow at the doctor, then leaned into Freddie, whispering hastily, "How does the lady know my name?"

"Just answer the question, Sam," Freddie hastened as Dr. Bond joyfully scribbled in her notes.

Sam scowled, then flipped herself around so she was hanging upside down off the couch, her long hair dangling to the floor. This pleased the doctor for reasons beyond comprehension. "Well," Sam started, sticking another piece of chocolate in her mouth. "I think I'm left handed, but I'm not sure. I use forks with my left hand, but spoons with my right." She smirked when she caught Freddie gaping at her. "And I usually flick Freddie with my left." Sam carried this out. "See?"

"I see yes." The doctor smiled. "Which do you write with?"

"Hmm…" Sam brought both hands down to her face, and examined them. "I'm not sure."

The doctor smiled. _Incredibly unobservant. Also, when given the choice, would rather sit upside down. _"Tell me about your home life."

"Uh, I wake up every morning. Well, not every morning. Some mornings." She blew a loose strand of hair from her eyes, continuing in almost an unconscious stream, "And I go downstairs, and Spencer makes me waffles, and then he lights something on fire, then Freddo comes over and tells me to get ready for school. So, I tell him he's a fruit. Then I eat some fruit. Then Carly comes down stairs, freaking out because we are running late. Then Spencer has to rush us to school where I usually sleep some more. The Freddo and I hang out in the hall, and argue some more. Then I go to Ted's office for my daily appointment. Uh…then we go home, and rehearse, or break into the headquarters of a big time TV station, or play pranks on Lewb, or something. Then I don't go home, and it starts all over again."

By the end of this ramble, Dr. Bond had an undeniable grin on her face. Freddie had his face in his hands. "You are a lot better than Freddie with telling me about yourself. See, Freddie, you just open your mouth, and words come out!"

Sam laughed at this. Freddie scowled. "Yeah," Sam agreed. "When Freddie talks it's usually like, stutter, stutter, stutter, bullshit, bullshit, meh, meh, meh, you piss me off, Sam, bullshit, meh."

Dr. Bond chuckled, joyfully clicking her pen. "Yeah, that's usually what I get here!"

"Okay," Freddie started angrily. "Let's get on with the session."

The ladies in the room ignored him. "And when he's angry," Dr. Bond continued, "He just paces around like a maniac."

"I know!" Sam exclaims. "And he rants, and rants, and rants." She popped another piece of candy in her mouth. Not bothering to swallow first, she continued, "Like, seriously, you know the little voice everyone has in there head? Yeah, well, as much as I wish mine was a British accent, it's Freddie in rant mode with his little whiny voice!" She seemed to find this to be the utmost hilarity, and slapped Freddie's knee, snorting loudly.

Dr. Bond laughed as well, enjoying the guest's presence, but feeling the necessity to note, _has voice inside of head._ _Thinks this is the norm_.Then she glanced at Freddie. _Turns red when angry as well as embarrassed._ "Here, Freddie," She grabbed the pillow off the floor. "Have at it."

Freddie yanked it from the doctor's hands, giving her a sarcastic, "Thanks."

"Anything else, Sam?"

She popped another piece of chocolate. "Well," she said. Rolling it around in her mouth. "I am currently training for a competitive eating competition, which I plan on winning."

The doctor nodded her on, scribbling _appears to feel more comfortable when talking if there is an item of food in her mouth. _"Keep it coming," she begged joyfully. Freddie rolled his eyes.

"This is awesome, Freddo! You mean, all those times you said you _had _to come here, you were just sitting here talking about yourself?" Freddie rolled his eyes, again, and Sam reached up, and poked his gut. "Be grateful, you nub." She turned back to the doctor, popping another piece of candy with her signature bored expression. "Let's see…Today I consumed a bucket of chicken, and I gave Gibby a cosmic wedgie, twice, and, uh…oh! I stole _four_ wallets today!" She reached up again to Freddie, but for a high five, which he reluctantly returned.

"Fascinating…" the doctor mused, her pen making smoke. "Sam, I would love to try a few methods of cognitive psychology on you. Would that be alright, Freddie?"

"Go ahead," he spat, annoyed. "Play with your new toy."

Dr. Bond smiled brightly. "Thank you. Sam, tell me the first thing that comes to your mind when I say a word, alright?"

"Right-o, Doc!"

The doctor wondered if this was a trait Freddie had picked up from Sam, or vice versa. She was too excited to ponder this for long though. "Alright," she started. "This practice?"

"Soup stealing monster," Sam answered.

"Hmm…" The doctor felt she should note this. Freddie shook his head at both of them.

"Anger?" Dr. Bond asked.

"Yes," Sam answered.

"Hostility?"

"Four syllables."

"Hmm, that's true," Dr. Bond said, smiling, knowing she hit the psychological jackpot. "Pain?"

"Entertainment," Sam said without hesitation.

_Anger issues, _Dr. Bond noted silently. "Entertainment?"

"Pain. Freddie. Instant gratification."

"_Sam_," Freddie started, but was quickly shushed by the doctor. He went back to wringing the pillow violently.

"Obsessive compulsions?"

"The Bensons."

Dr. Bond nodded in agreement. Freddie exhaled angrily. Sam threw a piece of candy at him, popping one in her own mouth.

"Food?"

"Yes."

"Breakfast?"

"Pizza."

"Lunch?"

"Good."

"Dinner?"

"Better."

The doctor smiled, then asked, "Upside down?"

"Better than right side up."

Dr. Bond wrote her knew toy's answer down. "How about," she glanced at Freddie for a moment. "Romance?"

"Overrated."

The doctor saw it fit to note, _patient doesn't look surprised or fazed upon hearing companion deny romance. _"Love?"

"Nope."

"Like?"

"Sometimes."

"Dependence?"

"Independence."

Though Dr. Bond was having a rather good time with her guest, she couldn't help but to be determined on behalf of her patient. "Love?" she asked again.

"Tough."

"Family?"

"Conviction."

Dr. Bond paused, noting this. "Issues?"

"Carly. No, Spencer."

"Agreed," the doctor nodded. "Dislikes?"

"People."

"Simply _enthralling_," the doctor mumbled to no one in particular. "Entertainment?" the doctor asked again.

"MMA. No, wait, still Freddie." Sam poked his gut again, amused when he scowled.

"Relationship?"

"Friends with benefits."

Upon seeing her patient's face fall, the doctor felt she had to correct this quickly. "Benefits?"

"A relationship. Freddie," the guest sighed, sounding bored.

"Right…" the doctor noted this. "First kiss?"

"Long story. Fire escape."

"Fire escape?"

Sam hesitated. "Good times. No, wait, loss of dignity."

Dr. Bond was relieved to see Freddie chuckling. Sam smiled up at him, then stared back down at the floor, losing interest fast. "Just a few more, Sam. Umm…Realizations?"

"Banging my head against the wall."

Doctor and patient shared a quick smile. "Love?" Dr. Bond tried for the third time.

"Fighting."

The answer didn't surprise the doctor, and she was happy to see Freddie brighten up as he watched Sam now. "Necessities?"

"None," was the reply, closely followed by, "Ham."

_Seems to put food above most things in life, particularly people. _The doctor sat back, clicking her pen, and twisting in her seat. She went back to the paper after a moment, _also, upon hearing the word 'necessities', initial reaction was to look at Freddie_. "Psychiatry?"

Sam closed her eyes, bored, "Don't need."

"Freddie?"

"Need," she answered sleepily. Then her eyes snapped open, and she turned her self upright on the couch, her face going white as the blood drained from her head. "Er, I meant nub. Nub!" Freddie just sat back, put his arm around her shoulders without a thought, and smirked.

"Alright," the doctor chided triumphantly. "I think that's enough for today." She reluctantly checked the clock. "Uh, Freddie? It's about time."

"Right," Freddie said, standing. Sam then spread out over the entire couch, yawning. "Stand up, Sam. That's rude."

"She's fine," Dr. Bond laughed, motioning for Freddie to come to her desk. "Here." She handed him a small slip of paper. "It's a prescription for Prozac."

"But-,"

"Don't ask questions, Freddie. And here, in case that doesn't work, this one is for Anafranil." The patient took the paper without a word this time. Dr. Bond sighed, looking around the room, knowing there was something she was forgetting. "Oh." She stood up, pushing past Freddie to the couch. She pulled a pillow from under Sam, who snored loudly.

"No, Doc, I couldn't-,"

"Freddie, just take it," Dr. Bond said, shoving the abused pillow into his chest. She glanced back at the blonde passed out on her brown leather couch. "I'm sure you'll need it."

Freddie laughed nervously. "Yeah, thanks, but-,"

"And I feel like I should thank you. I'm currently writing a report on what could become what's known as 'Bond's Method'." She smiled. "Also known as pillow therapy."

Freddie chuckled, pulling at the corner of the pillow in his hand. "Okay, Doc, but-,"

"So, I guess I'll be seeing you around, Freddie. Or probably not." She took a step back to distance herself from the patient, hoping this physical act would carry over emotionally as well. "So, I suppose this is just goodbye. Well then, good bye, and good luck." She was trying not to sound flustered, but she knew she was failing miserably. "Keep Sam around. She's good for you. Any girl who can get a pacifist like you to fight with her is worth it."

"Right, but-,"

The doctor had promised herself, over and over, that she wouldn't break down. Yet, here she was, flinging her arms around the patient, mustering up every bit of poise left to say, "Bye, Freddie. You've really helped me develop my pshychodynamic methods, and it's been interesting."

Freddie hugged her back for a moment, smiling, before finally musing, "Yes, it has, but Janice?"

"Mmm?" She mumbled into his shoulder.

"My mom read your notes, and she said I could come back. Actually, she said I had no choice."

"What are you two up to?"

Freddie hastily let go of Dr. Bond, holding his hands up in the air. "Just, saying goodbye, Sam"

Dr. Bond, who was feeling a vast array of conflicting emotions at this time, had nothing to say. She was just trying to fathom the shock that was suddenly taking over her sorrow. "You're not leaving for good?" she asked quietly.

"Seriously, Freddie? _Good bye_?" Sam crossed her arms, checking her hip to the side, and blowing a strand of her from her eyes. "She's, like, forty."

"Twenty nine!" the doctor corrected as she grabbed her notebook from her desk. _Sudden rude behavior can easily be translated as jealousy, or an extreme sense of possession. _

"Whatever," Sam said, filling the pockets of her hoody with the remaining contents of the candy bowl. "Let's blow this popsicle stand, Freducate! I gotta get a burger in me, fast."

"Right, Sam, just a second." Freddie rolled his eyes, then smiled at his doctor. "Next week then?"

A feeling a relief, that she was surprised to not be ashamed of, washed over Dr. Bond. "Yeah, next week." Then she smiled, and yanked the pillow out of her patient's hands. "And I'll need this to deal with you in rant mode."

Sam clicked her tongue wearily for a moment, then, seeing that the doctor and patient were only standing there, smiling at each other, she tugged on Freddie's hand. "Let's go," she whined.

"Okay, okay. Zip up your jacket first. It's cold out there."

"Yeah, _okay_, buddy." Sam rolled her eyes. "I can take care of myself, you know."

"No, you can't," Freddie corrected, zipping up her jacket for her.

Dr. Bond quickly noted that _the sense of possession appears to go both ways_. "Well, goodbye guys. It was nice to finally meet you, Sam, though I feel like I already know you. You're all Freddie ever talks about."

Freddie's eyes widen in horror. "Uh, _no_…You're not."

Sam ignored him. "So, I'm, like, the reason Freddo has to go to therapy?"

"Indirectly, yes," Dr. Bond said pleasantly, clicking her pen, grinning at Freddie.

Freddie scowled a bit more, but couldn't help his smile when he saw Sam's pleased expression. "Alright, Doc, next week then? Same time?"

The doctor grinned at her patient. "Next week, yes." She pulled Freddie aside as Sam trudged reluctantly to the hall where Mrs. Benson waited. "And Freddie?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to come back here every week as long as you and Sam are dating."

Freddie rolled his eyes. "Okay, Doc, bye."

Dr. Bond smiled, "Bye." She closed the door, thinking it was probable that she would be getting to know the Monday four o'clock pretty well over the next few years. She walked back to her desk, and gatherd her notes. She clicked her pen a few times, before finally jotting, _note to self: need to stop at the store and get a few new throw pillows before next Monday_.

* * *

**A/N) Apologies for errors. Oh, and a _throw pillow_, that's technically what those little pillows you put on your couch are called. I had to ask my mom about that one. I have no wife-skills.  
Alrighty then. Onward to my next story! I'm excited to post the next one I'm writing. It's probably my favorite story that I've written for this fandom. I'll give you one hint: **Kangaroos.**  
Umm…bout **_**this **_**story…Uh, did you like the end? I hate endings, but I think I pulled it off alright this time. Please, feel free to disagree. **

**I'm gonna miss Dr. Bond. Maybe I'll do a sequel where she finally gets Sam to come in for regular visits. Should I? Honestly, now. If I do it, it might not be in the near future, but at any rate, I defenitely want to do a little character progression for Sam, more so than Freddie in this story. Okay, thanks for the reviews.  
**


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